


when it burns

by Vagabond



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Ichor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Wing Grooming, Wingfic, descriptions of a wound, unbetaed, violence mentioned, wound care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23922991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagabond/pseuds/Vagabond
Summary: After the apocalypse-that-wasn't, Crowley gets hurt during a botched summoning and Aziraphale is the one to help him.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 302





	when it burns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coveredincrumb (thegiftoftime)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegiftoftime/gifts).



> This is a gift fic for my fearless beta and friend, [coveredincrumb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegiftoftime/pseuds/coveredincrumb) who did not beta this fic......because it is a GIFT. She likes a good dose of angst with a little bit of sick!fic, so I tried to do both. And it turned out fluffy. That's how I roll, y'all. That's how I roll. 
> 
> While you're here, you should check out her awesome RomCom event fic, [The Power of Attraction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23514718/chapters/56393104). It is a WIP but a lot of fun. 
> 
> Anywho. Onto the story.

Crowley swore he was on fire. 

It was worse than that time during the apocalypse, when he went down on his knees inside of a burning bookshop. It was worse than sitting in his beloved Bentley that was encased in flames. This burning started in his side and radiated out into every fiber of his being. 

He’d been struck by a holy weapon, and was lucky it was wielded by a measly human and not something more powerful. 

When Crowley hadn’t gone up in a puff of smoke the human left the weapon (now useless, Crowley noted) on the ground, crushing the grass beneath it. The human, a young man who had decided to play with old artifacts while summoning a demon, ran. Crowley watched him go as his world went red. 

“Aziraphale,” he grunted as he fell to his knees, the human long gone. He was pretty sure he was going to pass out. 

“Oh dear.” Strong arms lifted him, a white wing draped over to shield him from the world. “Dear Lord, Crowley, what happened?” 

Crowley tried to speak, but it didn’t work. Instead, the darkness overtook his vision and he was out like a light. 

**

Aziraphale lifted Crowley up in his arms and noted with displeasure the oozing wound in his side. It looked as if he’d been slashed, and if he had to guess he would say the dented blade in the grass had something to do with it. 

“Now you ought to make your way to my shop,” he told the blade. It disappeared with a miracle. “And we ought to, too,” he murmured down at Crowley, limp in his arms. He took to the air, a little bit of magic making him invisible to the human eye as he flew across London and arrived at the shop. 

Crowley was taken upstairs to the bedroom, laid on clean sheets, and Aziraphale didn’t bother putting on airs about his duvet getting stained. He rolled up his sleeves and carefully tore open Crowley’s shirt in order to get a better look at the wound. It was red and weeping, oozing a black tar-like substance. There was no blood, which concerned him. It was festering instead. 

On the bed, Crowley whimpered and Aziraphale glanced up. He was still passed out, but there was sweat on his forehead now. When Aziraphale laid his hand against clammy skin it felt like Crowley had a fever. 

“You’ve been touched by a holy blade,” Aziraphale murmured, frowning. “You poor dear.” Angelic magic wouldn’t do, at least not yet. No, he’d have to do this the human way. If he could get the festering under control then he might be able to heal it. 

He miracled up clear liquor and poured it into a bowl. Next came a cloth which he soaked in the liquor before he pressed it to Crowley’s side. It woke him. Crowley snarled out what sounded like a ‘no’ and grabbed for the cloth. 

“Please -” 

Aziraphale grabbed his hands and pinned them. He looked down into unseeing, tear-filled eyes. “I’m sorry, my dear. You have to leave it on.” 

Crowley struggled until unconsciousness took him again and Aziraphale let out a sigh and touched their foreheads together. He ran his fingers through Crowley’s sweat soaked hair and lingered there, before he stood up and resituated the cloth on Crowley’s side. He didn’t miss the way Crowley trembled, no doubt still in pain. 

At least he was unconscious for what would likely be the worst of it. 

Aziraphale sat at his side for hours, replacing the cloth whenever it began to dry, or when it became so soaked with the fluid oozing out of the wound that it was no good to keep it on. He switched up disinfectants, trying all the things that humans had used over the years to clean a wound. 

Finally, it seemed that hydrogen peroxide worked best on it. The black tar substance stopped eeking out and Aziraphale began to recognize the golden red blood of ethereal or occult beings. Whatever holy essence had infected him was gone, and now they had a normal wound to deal with. 

Aziraphale kept the cloth on Crowley’s side while he considered his next move. He checked Crowley’s temperature again and was pleased to find he was no longer burning up. 

“There you are, my dear.” He brushed some hair off of Crowley’s forehead and fetched water from the kitchen, leaving it in a pitcher on the nightstand alongside a glass. Crowley was breathing easier now, his chest rising and falling peacefully. He hoped that Crowley would sleep through the next part, too. 

With a fresh cloth and some soapy water, Aziraphale tended to the slash with gentle care. He wiped away the blood, made sure there was no dirt in the wound, and then miracled a kit into being for stitches. It was better to be as careful as possible when treating a wound created by ethereal energy, so he didn’t want to risk an attempt at healing when human means worked just as well. 

He threaded the needle and applied a surface anesthetic as gently as possible around the wound. Then he set to work, and the moment the needle pierced skin he heard Crowley snort awake. He retreated, holding up his hands - including the one holding the needle - and grimaced as Crowley struggled to sit up and then slumped back down. 

“Angel?” 

“Yes, it is just me.” Aziraphale laid a warm hand on Crowley’s belly, fingertips rubbing against the trail of soft red hair there. “I need to stitch you up.” 

“Ngk.” Crowley’s head thumped back onto the pillow. 

“I know.” He soothed his hand over Crowley’s belly again before he steadied him. “Be as still as possible and I promise I will make it as quick as I can.” 

Crowley was quite sporting, flinching only occasionally but otherwise stalwart in the face of stitches. It took a while to close up the wound, but once it was done, Aziraphale sat back and let out a sigh. 

“There you are.” 

Crowley didn’t respond. When Aziraphale looked up at his face he found he was staring up at the ceiling. 

“Crowley?” 

Crowley shook his head and closed his eyes. Aziraphale ached with it. He wanted to comfort him but he wasn’t sure how. He had intended so many times post-apocalypse to  _ talk _ . To tell Crowley how much he cared. To touch him, love him. Now, he worried it would seem trite. Crowley had just returned from the brink of a very bad injury, it didn’t seem like the best time to declare love. 

So instead, Aziraphale stood and took his supplies into the bathroom. He washed his hands the human way because it soothed him, and when he returned to the bedroom he found Crowley completely shirtless. His shirt was dumped on the floor, tattered and bloodied. His trousers weren’t in particularly good condition, either. 

“I’ll get you some clothes to borrow,” Aziraphale insisted. Crowley looked at him and he looked  _ lost _ , but Aziraphale didn’t know what to do. Again, he busied himself. He gave Crowley space as he dug through the drawers. 

“It is fine, angel,” Crowley rasped. Aziraphale stopped with his hand over a pair of soft sweatpants. 

“What?” He didn’t look up. 

“You don’t...I’m…” Crowley grimaced and Aziraphale caught it in the corner of his eye. “I’m fine.” 

“You aren’t.” Aziraphale stood up with the sweatpants clutched in his hands. “You aren’t alright. You called for me and I heard you, I knew you were hurt, and I helped. I saw your wound. You  _ weren’t _ fine and there is no way you are now.” 

Crowley stared at him and Aziraphale wished those golden eyes of his weren’t filled with sorrow. 

_ I love you _ , Aziraphale wanted to say. But this wasn’t a good time, either. Post-injury, when Crowley was clearly hurt in other ways, it would seem like he was just trying to keep him close. Crowley would be obligated to stay then, wouldn’t he? At least until he could figure out a way to let Aziraphale down gently. 

Aziraphale curled his fingers in the sweatpants. “At least take these. Please. And stay, if you would. If you’re willing. I could make us some tea, and you ought to have something to nibble on.” He offered a half-smile, trying not to let his broken, desperate heart get the best of him. 

He wanted to take care of Crowley like all the times Crowley had cared for him. It was the least he could do, even if Crowley could never return his love. 

“Perhaps you can tell me what happened, too?” Aziraphale was curious. Crowley shrugged, hesitated, and then stomped over to him and yanked the sweatpants out of his hands. 

“Fine, I’ll stay. For now. Do you have a shirt?” 

“I’ve got a jumper that will look lovely on you,” Aziraphale said before he could stop himself. He tried not to freeze when he realized what he said. Instead, he turned toward his closet and dug around, ignoring the high flush on Crowley’s cheeks. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything. 

He pulled out a red knit jumper and offered it. Crowley took it and ran his hands over the fabric before he pulled it on, careful to roll it over the stitched up wound on his side. Once the jumper was on he let out a slow breath and offered Aziraphale his first smile since waking. 

“Thanks.” 

“Of course, my dear.” Aziraphale tried to ignore the butterflies in his stomach at the sight of Crowley in his clothes. They were baggy and hung off of his frame, but Crowley didn’t seem to mind. 

“You said something about tea?” 

Aziraphale nodded. “Of course. Come along.” 

Aziraphale bustled out of the bedroom and over into the small kitchenette. He turned on the electric kettle and procured two glasses from the cupboard. 

“Earl Grey alright with you?” He glanced at Crowley, watching as he settled into a chair gingerly. 

“Yeah, sure angel.” 

Aziraphale hummed and turned back to prepare the tea, pulling out tea bags and setting them in the cups, eventually pouring the water over them. He allowed it to steep as he added cream and sugar to his, and then just sugar to Crowley’s. He carried them over to the table and set them down, watching the steam rise. 

Crowley offered him another smile, albeit a small one. He looked...demure? Was that the right word, for the way Crowley watched him from under long eyelashes, with a certain caution he wasn’t used to? He wasn’t entirely sure, but it made the butterflies melt into something warm and protective in his gut. 

He sat down across from him and blew on his tea before taking a sip. It burned his tongue but he didn’t mind. “So, would you care to tell me what happened?” 

Crowley huffed and wrapped his long fingers around his mug. “I was summoned by some kid. I don’t know where he got the sword, or if he somehow enchanted it himself, but when he realized he’d summoned an  _ actual _ demon he panicked and got me before I could even ask what he wanted.” 

It disturbed Aziraphale, how quickly things could go sour. He wanted to ask Crowley if he was lying, hiding the truth for whatever reason he might have to do so. But the look on Crowley’s face told him all he needed to know: Crowley was telling the truth. It was an accident, a comedy of errors, and it could have been deadly. 

Aziraphale was suddenly disinterested in his tea, his mind conjuring images of the festering wound on Crowley’s side. 

“Angel?” 

When Aziraphale met Crowley’s eyes he found worry there, and noticed a hand half-extended across the table as if he meant to put a hand on Aziraphale’s arm. Aziraphale wished he would, that something would bridge the gap between them. Then Crowley made a pained noise and curled in on himself. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale was up and around the table in an instant, even though Crowley tried to wave him off. 

“Your local anesthetic is wearing off,” Crowley informed him. “This thing hurts like a bitch.” 

“Oh, my dear.” Aziraphale laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I’m sorry.” 

“S’whatever.” Crowley sighed and Aziraphale wished he could run his fingers through his hair and soothe away the concerned wrinkles on his forehead. 

“You’re in pain, that isn’t ‘whatever’,” Aziraphale replied. “What can I do to help?” 

Crowley put his hands around his tea again and then took a sip. “You’ve done enough.” 

“And yet here I stand, willing to do more.” 

Crowley scowled into his teacup. “I need rest. A few more hours and I might be able to take a shot at healing the rest of the wound myself.” 

Aziraphale wasn’t sure why that suggestion made him uneasy, but it did. He nodded regardless. “Then finish up your tea and we can rest.” 

Crowley glanced at him but then nodded and slurped down his tea. Aziraphale took his seat again and sipped his quietly, mulling over everything. Finally, when he was done, he looked over at Crowley who stood up very slowly. 

“Are you alright?” 

Crowley shrugged. “Fine.” 

Aziraphale frowned. “‘No’ is a perfectly valid answer.” 

Crowley mirrored his frown. “I’m  _ fine _ .” As if to demonstrate, he started walking back toward the bedroom when Aziraphale noticed his whole body flinch. Crowley yelped and Aziraphale immediately jumped up and was at his side, an arm around him to hold him up. 

“You’re so damn stubborn,” Aziraphale grumbled. 

“Demon,” Crowley grumbled right back. 

“A pain in my rear end.” 

“You won’t even say arse.” 

“A pain in my  _ arse _ .” Aziraphale huffed and walked with Crowley’s weight pressed against him all the way back to the bedroom. They both paused at the side of the bed as they took in the sight of black ooze and golden-red blood on the duvet. 

“Oh.” Crowley pressed closer to him. 

“I’m sorry, my dear. I should have changed it while you were drinking tea. Let me -” 

“No, angel. You’ve done enough. I can…” Crowley snapped in an upward motion but then cried out in pain. “Shit.” 

The stains remained. “You’re exhausted and healing. You shouldn’t be trying to perform miracles. Here, sit.” Azirpahale led him to a reading chair and helped him into it before he walked back over to the bed and yanked off the comforter. Thankfully, the blankets and sheets beneath it were safe. “I’ll just…” He looked around, and then walked over and shoved it into the hamper. Then, he opened a drawer in his dresser and pulled out a heavy blanket. He draped it over the top of the bed. 

“See? All better.” He glanced over at Crowley and it was impossible to miss the naked look on his face. There was  _ want _ there, along with palpable exhaustion, and Aziraphale tutted. “Poor dear.” 

“Mmph.” Crowley hung his head. Aziraphale walked over and helped him up, moving him over to the bed. Once Crowley was seated he pulled back the blankets and helped him under. Just as he planned to tuck him in, Crowley’s fingers encircled his wrist. 

“What is it?” Aziraphaled asked. 

“Would you stay?” Crowley’s voice was quiet. “For a little while?” 

“In case you need anything?” Aziraphale added, trying to figure out why on earth Crowley would want him near. A pained look crossed Crowley’s face and he released Aziraphale’s wrist. 

“Right. Yeah. In case I need anything.” 

“Of course. You settle in and I’ll change into something more comfortable.” For the sake of being polite, he pulled out a soft pair of pajama pants and a comfortable t-shirt and disappeared into the bathroom to change. When he came out, Crowley was laying on his back on the bed, mouth open. Soft snores filled the room and Aziraphale smiled. 

He loved Crowley, even if he could never admit it. Or at least, he couldn’t yet. Perhaps once Crowley was well again…

It wouldn’t do him any good to keep thinking about it. He banished the thought from his mind as he crawled onto the other side of the bed and draped the covers over both of them. With a snap, the lights turned off except for one on the nightstand closest to him. He miracled a book into his hands and settled in to read. 

“Angel,” Crowley mumbled, and Aziraphale glanced down to find him still asleep. He shifted in his sleep, wincing, and Aziraphale reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder and still him. 

“I’m right here, my dear.” 

“Stop, angel,” Crowley continued to shift and when he did, he winced again. He was struggling to get onto his side, trying to roll over, and Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he should let him. 

“Crowley, shh, it is alright. You’re dreaming.” He let up on Crowley’s shoulder and watched as he rolled over. Once he hit Aziraphale’s side he settled, shuddering. 

“Don’t leave,” he mumbled, nuzzling his face into Aziraphale’s shirt. 

“I won’t,” Aziraphale whispered back, all too aware that he was talking to a sleeping demon. “I promise, I won’t.” 

Out of the ether, Crowley’s wings appeared. They were ruffled, the feathers out of place, but he draped one over Aziraphale. The other remained tucked against his back. He settled then, and Aziraphale sighed and set his book aside. It wasn’t comfortable to hold it with Crowley curled against his side, and if he had to choose? He’d choose Crowley. 

“There you are, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured as he managed to get an arm around the demon and hold him close. He was warm, but not feverish. Murmuring, but he didn’t seem upset anymore. Aziraphale chanced it and ran his fingers through some of Crowley’s feathers, helping settle them back into place. Wing grooming was an intimate thing in Aziraphale’s book, so he knew he shouldn’t proceed, but the dark feathers were an unfair temptation. 

“If you wish for me to groom you when you wake up,” Aziraphale whispered as he dipped his head down to kiss Crowley’s forehead. “I will.” 

As quiet settled over them, Aziraphale let his breathing match Crowley’s and allowed himself the gift of sleep. 

**

Consciousness came back to Crowley like a pin prick, sharp and obnoxious, threatening to take him away from the warmth of a soft bed. He nestled further into the heated blanket beside him, grateful for the warmth. He didn’t remember putting his heated blanket on, but he was glad he did. Yet, as he rubbed his cheek against it he felt cotton instead of the soft, minky material he was used to. 

The blanket was also breathing. It was a chest rising and falling beneath him and he scrambled back, startled. Then he yelped as pain shot through his side and he crumpled back onto the bed, gripping it, his wings outstretched for balance and, instinctually, protection. 

“Crowley, it is alright. You’re okay.” There were hands petting his wings, gently pushing them out of the way so they could get to him. It was Aziraphale. He’d know that voice, that scent, and those  _ hands _ anywhere. He huffed and tried to get his breath back, fighting through the pain that dulled to an ache. 

“‘Zira.” 

“Yes, dear, I’m right here. I’m sorry I startled you. Would you...er. Do you need anything?” 

Yes, Crowley thought. He needed to be back against Aziraphale’s side, warm and safe. But he couldn’t say it, not even with Aziraphale’s open expression aimed at him. They weren’t...they  _ couldn’t _ . 

Though a voice in his head posed a simple question: why not? 

Their respective sides were old news. They may have to deal with them someday, but they’d earned a bit of space. The world hadn’t ended. They had their dinners, their walks, their time in the park. Crowley could sit on Aziraphale’s couch without always being on edge, waiting for a surprise audit from the Head Asshole of the Heavenly Office. 

And his side hurt. He still felt weak. He didn’t even want to put his wings away, because Aziraphale’s hands had been on them and he couldn’t remember the last time someone else had groomed them for him. 

“Yes.” Crowley swallowed around the lump in his throat. 

“Oh.” Aziraphale smiled in that soft, uncertain way of his. “Water, perhaps? Or - do you need something for your side? Pain reliever?” 

_ You can blame it on the pain _ , Crowley told himself. If it went poorly, he’d say he wasn’t in his right mind. What did he have to lose? 

“Would you...let me lay back down? Next to you?” Crowley bit his lip after the question was free, watching Aziraphale for any sign of hesitation. 

There wasn’t hesitation, but there was surprise as shown in the arching of his brows. After a moment, he held out his arms and nodded. “Of course, Crowley. Always.” 

“Oh. Good. Right.” He carefully shifted back into Aziraphale’s arms and, because the offer was there, proceeded to drape himself over him. He put his arms around his neck and straddled his lap, pressing close and laying his head against his shoulder. 

“Hello, dear,” Aziraphale murmured into his ear, breath warm. He carefully put his arms around Crowley’s waist and maneuvered them down so that Crowley was on top of him. “Is - er, is this alright?” 

“More than, angel.” Crowley was as content as a snake on a sun warmed rock. Aziraphale was soft and perfect beneath him, all dips and padding where Crowley was skin and bones. He breathed in the smell of his aftershave, reveling in the way their chests pressed together with every breath. Crowley arced his wings so they were hidden from the world, protected. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale started after five or so minutes of silence. “I’m...I apologize if this is too forward, as I’m sure you’re just tired and looking for comfort but I wondered...well. Your wings. They’re a bit ruffled. I thought I might...groom them?” 

Crowley huffed and lowered his wings into a relaxed position. “Please.” 

“Ah.” Aziraphale leaned his cheek against Crowley’s head as his fingers grazed his down feathers. “It might work better if you could sit up and I could sit behind you?” 

Crowley grunted. That wasn’t an appealing thought. He liked being stretched out over Aziraphale, if only to assure him that they were both there, and they were okay. But he liked the way Aziraphale’s fingers teased along his secondaries more. 

“Okay. Give me a second.” Crowley carefully rose up onto his hands, taking his weight off of Aziraphale, and then he stopped. Aziraphale gazed at him with his stormy blue eyes and a soft, fond smile, and he was enthralled. Was he only looking at him like that because he’d been injured? Or was there something more in that look, something that also made his chest clench and his stomach flip. 

“Crowley…” Aziraphale’s smile faded into a frown as he reached up and touched the tips of his fingers to Crowley’s cheek. “My dear boy, I was so worried about you, you know. You gave me a bit of a scare.” 

“Sorry.” Crowley mirrored his frown. “I can’t always ignore a summons.” 

“I know. I just…” With a sigh, Aziraphale slipped his fingers up into Crowley’s hair and guided his head down. His eyes slid closed as their foreheads touched. Crowley’s frown morphed back into a smile as he closed his eyes, enjoying the simple touch. It didn’t need to be difficult, did it. This was Aziraphale. 

“I know, angel. I get it, I think.” Crowley rubbed their foreheads together, and then brushed the tip of his nose against Aziraphale’s. 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale rubbed his scalp and Crowley dared to brush a kiss to the tip of Aziraphale’s nose. At that, blue eyes sprang open and stared at him, half in awe, half in fear. He watched as Aziraphale swallowed, blinked, and then closed his eyes and pressed their foreheads together again. “I love you.” 

“Oh.” The air was punched out of Crowley’s gut at that, and then he started to laugh. “Oh,  _ oh _ .” 

Aziraphale’s eyes opened and he looked alarmed. “Please, I...I’m sorry. I couldn’t - I had to tell you. After seeing you like that, wondering if I might lose you. It doesn’t have to change anything -” 

Crowley didn’t let him get another word out. He kissed him instead, his side aching with his continued chuckles as he brushed their lips together again and again. Aziraphale made a questioning noise and then cupped Crowley’s face in both of his hands, holding him still and kissing him properly. Crowley allowed Aziraphale to lick into his mouth and let his tongue meet his. 

When they broke apart, Aziraphale’s lower lip glistened, and his eyes were full of wonder. 

“I love you too, angel,” Crowley smiled and kissed him again. Then he nuzzled Aziraphale’s cheek and laid on top of him again. “And I’m tired.” 

“I suppose wing grooming could wait…” Aziraphale sighed. “Thought I was looking forward to it.” 

“Groom what you can.” Crowley shifted until he was comfortable, squirming down until he could rest his head on Aziraphale’s collarbone. “Groom the rest later.” 

“Should we talk about any of this?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Later.” Crowley wanted to ride the wave of contentment that came with knowing Aziraphale loved him. 

Aziraphale chuckled and carded his fingers through Crowley’s secondaries, teasing, tickling. “Alright. Later.” 

Crowley basked in Aziraphale’s gentle touches. Aziraphale seemed to like to card through the feathers with all of his fingers, before he went back through and corrected crooked ones. His fingertips on the barbs of his wing were wonderful, and when Aziraphale settled into a rhythm, Crowley found he could drift. 

“Angel?” He mumbled, right before he was ready to sleep again. 

“Mmhm?” 

Crowley smiled. “‘Love you.” 

“Ah.” Aziraphale let the sound out as a startled exhale. “I love you, too.” 

**Author's Note:**

> You can come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels), [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/), or can check out my other Good Omens works right [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagabond/works?fandom_id=114591).


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